


Fate

by lokiloo



Category: Dragon Age, xxxHoLic
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Spoilers, fate's a bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 13:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokiloo/pseuds/lokiloo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a year after he first arrives in Kirkwall that he sees it. A strange shop that calls to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fate

**Author's Note:**

> Written originally for the kink meme- Hawke has a wish.
> 
> This has spoilers for both the game and the anime/manga- please be aware before reading.

He sees it a year after he arrives.

He’s with Fenris, Anders and Varric. They’ve just exited a Nobel’s house, looking for some sort of lead to a kidnapped elf girl. They night is still somewhat early, with only a few lanterns lit. Hawke leads the way back Fenris’ mansion- dropping off the elf before the rest headed home to lowtown and darktown.

-That’s when he sees it. It’s a small, strange little house- all slanted angles and foreign construct. He sees paper lanterns hung like fireflies, stones carved with lines and slashes that must be words. Its’ door is pressed deeply into the brick wall, leaving a sort of awning. The steps leading up are framed with the strange lanterns, and the door itself is heavy and ornate, with the designs of butterflies and smoke painted in the glass.

“Who’s house it that?” The group stop to look at Hawke.

“Who’s? The big one?” Varric asks. “That’s the Comte de Gailden’s- I heard he’s been cheating on his wife. With his manservant.”

Hawke shakes his and head and laughs. “No, Varric, not the big one. The house right-“

And when Hawke goes to point, all that’s there is a brick wall.

“-there. It was….huh.” Hawke scratches his head. “And now I’m hallucinating. Great.” Varric and Anders chuckles.

“Time to go home, then?” Anders prods.

“Yeah, yeah. Lets get you home first, Fenris.” The elf nodes and heads onward towards his mansion.

Hawke falls behind to glance once more at the wall.

 

He sees it again, right after they return from the Deep Roads. Hawke has changed his stars, so to speak- he’s bought the family estate, become a noble in all but title, and finally taken his mother out of the shit hole they’d been in, and into something that truly fit her.

It doesn’t fix the hole in his heart. Doesn’t stop mother’s sad stares, doesn’t make anything grand worth it.

It doesn’t make losing both his siblings any better.

 

He’s walking aimlessly that night. It’s not safe, and certainly not smart- any band of thugs could easily kill him. –But if the events in those bloody roads had shown anything, it was that Hawke didn’t care. About anything.

It is with complete surprise that Hawke turns a corner and comes face to face with the door.

It’s still as foreign and strange as it once was. The lanterns are still hung, the door sill looked as powerful and beautiful before. This time, though, the sweet scent of incense in the air. So different from the cloying, heavy smoke of the chantry, Hawke found himself taken to his sense, and followed it to the door.

Before he could smack right into the wood frame, though, Hawke caught himself. He stood in front of the door not a moment, before suddenly it opened in on him.

Hawke looked swiftly up to see a large, intimidating man in front on him, blocking the entrance. Wearing a strange white shirt and black trousers, the man stared down at Hawke with bright gold eyes, and a completely stoic face.

“You’re expected.” He states.

“What?” Hawke stutters, still in slight shock. The man in front of him is unmoved.

“You’re expected. Come in.” With that, the man turns and heads into the little house, and Hawke feels himself compelled to go in after him. As soon as he entered the doorway, however, the door itself shuts.

The Man before looks behind, and gives absolutely no hint as to what he might me thinking. Hawke just stares.

“Um.”

“Follow me.” And then suddenly they’re walking. The hallway is lined with paper, framed with wood, and Hawke is pretty certain they’re some sort of door. Though some are a simple lattice work with plain white paper, others are painted on with water-colors; pictures of flowers and mountains and exotic animals, stylized like nothing Hawke has ever seen.

Soon, they reach a door that looks pretty similar to the others, but his host stops abruptly. Hawke has little to do but stop as well.

“Enter here.” The man states. Hawke wants to ask what the hell in going on, why can’t he leave, what is making him do this-

But suddenly he’s slid the door open, entered, and slid it behind him.

-And there is now a man laying before him.

The man before him is foreign, but like no foreigner Hawke had ever seen, even in the huge sprawl of Kirkwall. Through he looked human, with short round ears, he was exceptionally tall and lean, with long limbs like a spider- haunting and ethereal. Short black hair framed a pale, lovely face, which on itself rest a queer device, like two tiny spyglass. Long, ornate robes of deep red and purples clothed him, but still long limbs jutted out, pooling material around. In the haze of fragrant smoke, the stranger looks like a dream of silk and shade, laying on the chaise like some sort of painting.

“What…Are you? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Of course not.” The man waves a long stick like a gesture, smoke spiraling out of it in tiny tendrils. “Defining myself is not a challenge. I am man. I am a keeper of time and space- I am a businessman. I am powerful, I am old. All these things are true.

-But I suppose, you could say I am a Witch.”

Hawke starts, and then smiles ruefully. “I’ve learned a few things about making deals with witches.”

The man in front of him laughs a sweet, rich sound. “Oh, I am quite sure you have. However, I am no ordinary witch.” The man takes a deep puff of the strange stick, blowing fragrant smoke out in spirals.

“I am the Shopkeeper.” He continues, looking beyond the walls of the paper room into some place only he could see. “I am in the business of wishes.”

Hawke can’t stop himself from laughing. “Wishes? Truly? You’re what, some fairy sent to grant me true love? To send me to the ball?”

The Shopkeeper turns to face him properly, and Hawke is struck silent by the intensity in those eyes. One sky blue, the other as gold as a rich-man’s pocket. Eyes filled with knowledge, with a strength that only came with age.

“You have a wish, Ser Hawke. A wish that I doubt even you understand. Not yet.” The shopkeeper tilts his head and looks away, as if listening to a song. “No, not yet.”

“I have a wish.” Hawke states. The Shopkeeper looks at him from the chaise.

“Is that so?” He leans back, as if examining him. “What is your wish then?”

“Bring them back.” Hawke whispers. “My sister, my brother, my father. Bring them back.”

The shopkeeper frowns softly and shakes his head.

“The price for that wish is too high- to bring back just one person is too high. You could not pay it.”

“I’ll pay anything- anything!” Hawke slams his fists onto the table, rocking the dainty china set. “If you’re really as powerful as you say, bring them back!”

The air around them chilled, as though winter had suddenly descended upon them. The foreign man had a sharp look on his face, cold fury cutting like knives.

“Do not throw promises like that around. You have no idea what consequences they may have. Do you truly wish to bring them back? Are you prepared to pay that price?” Hawke pales, but the man continues. “They could be brought back. But your price? You would have to kill everyone you know.”

Hawke’s widened in horror, but the man only laughed darkly. “Oh no, you misunderstand. When I say everyone, I do not mean your just your friends and love ones. No,” he says softly, like a blade whispering against a neck. “you would kill your neighbors, merchants, barkeeps, waiters, servants- everyone that you know. Everyone you have even known. You would track down every person that has ever met you, from the day you were born, and kill them.”

Hawke feels faint, as though his heart had stopped beating and he was running on cold water. His hands shook, and the Shopkeeper sighed.

“I did not mean to be harsh. For that, I am sorry. However, you must understand the nature of my shop. For every wish, there is a price. Some are high, some are very low. But I cannot decide this.” The man gestures with a hand. “The shop does.”

Hawke would have been tempted to call farce- certainly, it was one of the more ludicrous claims He’d ever heard.

But he felt the power. He felt the breath of the shop, the walls moving with a life that transcended this world. He knew instinctively that this is real.

“I understand.”

“Good,” says the foreign man. “You have many more appointments with me in the future. Until then...Doumeki-“ He calls, and the man from before returns into the room. His speed suggests he was standing right outside the sliding doors, and from what Hawke could tell, the man was either a Body Guard or a Lover.

Though with those muscles he was probably both.

“Do you have it?” The man called Doumeki nods once, and pulls from a pocket a short, engraved knife. Black and red dominate the sheath, with a simple but pretty design of swirls. “Please hand it to Ser Hawke.”

As Doumeki hand the knife over, Hawke briefly meets his incredibly gold eyes, silent and calm.

“This is part of your destiny. You must always keep it with you- no matter what.” Doumeki returns to stand behind the couch.

“But why?” Asks Hawke, still holding onto the small dagger.

“You will changes tides. You will become something larger than this city has seen before. How you choose to do so is still within your power. However,” he states, leaning forward, “you will still have a duty, a duty I cannot tell you about. But when the time comes, you must be ready to take action.”

Hawke gently traces the engravings on the knife, tilts it to watch the play of shine. He looks back to the witch.

“I don’t understand.”

“If you were meant to, then you would.” The Shopkeeper takes another drag of smoke. “Now we discuss payment.”

“Payment? For…the knife, you mean?”

“Yes.” The Shopkeeper taps his chin, then addresses Hawke. “Ah, I see. Hawke, come here.” Hawke stood warily, and crossed the short distance to stand by the chaise. “Lean forward.”

As Hawke bent before him, the witch placed one long, elegant finger to his forehead. Suddenly, it felt like smoke had clouded his entire mind, just as suddenly clearing.

“What-“

“Payment. I took away a choice, Sir Hawke. Something important in your life is now set on one path- I am sorry about that. However, it will lead you to your final destiny, far beyond what you are now. All in all, a small price to pay.”

Hawke staggered back, then snarled. “All this talk about choices, destiny, wishes- how do I know you’re not making this up? How do I know you’re not just casting blood magic on me- fooling me into this charade?”

The shopkeeper laughs. “Because you already know.”

Hawke does. That may be the scariest part.

“Your destiny awaits, Serah.” Continues the shopkeeper. “I will leave you with only this- The weight of blood is not equal. You will learn that soon.”

 

The man called Doumeki leads him to the door that Hawke had entered, opening the ornate wood and gesturing him out.

“Until next time.” The calm man states.

And then suddenly Hawke is standing outside of an empty courtyard. He spins around, only to see a plain, brick wall.

He heads back to Lowtown, shaken and disturbed, the weight of a knife held in his vest unnoticed.

 

The weight of blood is not equal.

You will have a duty.

You must be ready to take action.

 

Anders kneels in front of him. The chantry burns beyond them.

 

The weight of the knife is heavy in his hands.


End file.
